Chalkdust
by Keni Bellefleur
Summary: Deciding resolutely that he wasn’t going to sit back and let Richie’s brain be eaten, the darker teen took it a step farther and neatly plucked the chalk from the blonde’s fingers. Fluff. Oneshot, pre-established V/R. Pointless brain candy. Enjoy!


Richie was writing feverishly, the rapidly diminishing piece of chalk squeaking against the blackboard, his blue eyes almost unfocused as they moved across the incredibly tiny sequence of letters and numbers that were sprawled before him. No matter how quickly his fingers moved, they were always a full ten steps behind his mind, and some distant corner of his mind cursed him for the lack, but he was primarily too focused on the continuation of his idea – as if he was afraid it would escape him. That was, of course, a ridiculous fear. Richie never forgot _anything_. But sometimes ideas would be smothered underneath some other train of thought and disappear for a little while as something new emerged. And, if he let it, the new idea would sweep him away entirely. By the time he returned to the original idea, it could be colored entirely anew. For the moment, that would be a bad thing.

So, he wrote.

What he didn't realize, was that he had been there for hours, first filling the opposite side of the chalkboard, and now mostly done with this one, two pieces of chalk gone, and completely oblivious to the fact. Another thing he didn't realize was that Virgil was there, concerned about his boyfriend's departure from sane thought and sudden obsession with whatever it was he was trying to get out on the board before him. It wasn't odd for Richie to suddenly become totally focused with some odd idea that Virgil might just grasp the edges of. Because Virgil wasn't stupid, he had been exceedingly gifted in math and science long before Richie had been granted the super-intellect that the bang baby gas had given him. But to be fair, Richie now thought on a completely separate _realm_.

Virgil had, several times, tried to get Richie's attention, but it failed at every attempt. Finally, he went beyond merely calling his name, and stepping forward, laying a hand on Richie's shoulder. To Virgil's open astonishment, even then, the blond remained totally focused on what he was doing. Deciding resolutely that he wasn't going to sit back and let Richie's brain be eaten, the darker teen took it a step farther and neatly plucked the chalk from the blonde's fingers.

"Hey!" Richie objected – the first word to leave his mouth since he'd begun, but Virgil took what he could get, smiling a little. The blonde even went so far as to turn around, which (at this point) seemed nothing short of pure miracle. To Virgil's amusement, his turning lay them smack-dab, chest-to-chest with one another. Objection died in the blonde's throat.

"Yes?" Virgil asked, inviting him to continue, even as he took a half-step closer to the blonde. Richie blinked, mind taking an entire gear-shift from flux capacitor to gorgeous boyfriend inches away from him.

"Um," Richie fished. "I was…" he drifted off.

"You were?" Virgil prodded, stepping forward, backing Richie a little, who pivoted so that he wouldn't hit the chalkboard thus erasing hours of work, but he was followed, until he found himself against one of the gas station's brick walls, with Virgil still scant inches away.

"I was…um…testing the relative theory of, uh –" there was little use in persisting, as Virgil's close presence was thoroughly dismantling every train of thought he attempted to jump into. The dreadlocked teen was grinning widely now, assured of his victory in completely murdering Richie's attention on any type of science.

"You gonna finish a sentence today, Rich?" Virgil asked, with one eyebrow cocked. Richie frowned, thoroughly unamused by Virgil's syrup-thick sarcasm. In lieu of answer, the blonde reached up, took Virgil by the neck, and pulled the darker teen's lips towards his own.

…

There was a long smudge of chalk dust spread from Virgil's jaw-line and down his neck, where Richie's fingers had drawn it, accidentally, when he was dragging an entirely willing Virgil towards the station's old couch (which had been subjected to more spontaneous make-outs, and there-afters than any other activity [besides, perhaps, sleep - in its early days, when Richie was too exhausted or else unwilling to go back home]).

Richie noted it as he was curled comfortably in Virgil's arms, and considered reaching out to wipe it away, but then didn't. He kind of liked it there. A pale smudge on the clean (if a touch sweaty), dark skin. A physical mark of his that he left on his boyfriend. Besides, it was the least that Virgil deserved for interrupting him. Let him try to explain that to Mr. Hawkins, if he wanted to.

"What are you smiling at?" Virgil asked idly, surprising Richie only in the fact that his eyes were closed and he was thus unaware that Virgil was looking at him. He well knew that Virgil wasn't asleep, as he was trailing one hand deliciously slowly up and down the blonde's spine

"You," Richie answered, honestly. "I was debating murdering you earlier."

"Not anymore?" Virgil grinned down at him, flashing perfectly white, square teeth at Richie in a perfectly winning smile that, as it always did, made Richie feel a little weak in the knees. Luckily, he was already lying down and there was nothing but a pleasant sensation as he realized that Virgil was _his_ every bit as surely as he was Virgil's.

"Nah," Richie replied lightly. "Luckily for you, I have recently remembered that you have your uses. I think I'll keep you. Besides, finding a replacement would involve a lot of time and training. I'm too lazy. Besides, a replacement might not interrupt me in the middle of world-altering scientific discoveries for mind-blowing sex."

"Oh, well, we couldn't risk that," Virgil noted, sounding inordinately pleased with himself. "I'm delighted that you've decided to postpone my murder."

"Yeah, well, don't let it go to your head," Richie advised, not meaning it. "I'm fickle."

"I dunno," Virgil answered in a half sing-song. "I think I can take you."

"Is that a challenge?" Richie asked, pushing himself up, looking down at Virgil, one brow arched in contemplation.

"Nope," Virgil answered, physically pulling down the slimmer blonde (granted, with little resistance). "That," he noted pointedly, "is a promise." And he kissed Richie.

"Damn your tongue," Richie replied, some time later, once coherency returned. While he didn't have a whole lot of experience, experience here wasn't needed to recognize a fantastic kisser when he found one. Luckily, it just so happened that his fantastic kisser was also a brighter-than-average superhero with a body to die for and loyalty and compassion to a fault.

"You keep being mean to me and I'm not going to do nice things for you anymore, with or without aforementioned tongue," Virgil advised.

"That had better be another promise," Richie answered warningly.

"Oh," Virgil replied, most seriously, "I think you'll find out."


End file.
